


From Reference

by viksherenqueer



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, POV Second Person, Unnamed Dadsona (Dream Daddy), basically dadsona is an artist and he draws robert, not beta read so lemme know if there are any typos, rated teen for some cussing but thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 13:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12191082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viksherenqueer/pseuds/viksherenqueer
Summary: Dadsona used to draw a lot, up until Alex died and he found himself spending all of his time on Amanda. Now that she's away at college, he has a lot of extra free time on his hands. One night at the overlook, with Robert still and bent over his own project, Dadsona takes the time to draw him.





	From Reference

As lovely as ever, the thinking spot gives you a seemingly never-ending view of the light pollution hovering above the building tops of Maple Bay. Everything is so quiet. Summer had faded into fall and the previously ever-present chirp of crickets was gone. Nature was quiet, except for the occasional breeze ruffling leaves about.

Robert leaves the bed of the truck; the back end weighing down for a moment before rising again. He scans the surrounding area for supplies, returning with a decent pile of sticks. The frame suspenders squeak quietly as Robert hops back into the tailgate, legs dangling over the edge. He plucks a piece of wood from the pile and begins shaving slithers off.

You watch him for a moment, before moving to shuffle through your bag. Producing a pencil and sketchbook, you lean back against the wall of the truck bed and settle the book against your knees.

It had been a while, and the pencil still felt foreign in your hand. You used to draw a lot. It was a good pass time, and Amanda used to insist you make comics. After Alex had passed though, all of your time went towards taking care of Amanda and trying not to let grief consume you. Drawing had been abandoned.

That was, until last week. Amanda had left for college about a month ago, and you were struggling with keeping yourself busy. Last week you had vowed to sort through a few unpacked boxes in the garage that had been sitting since you moved. You didn't really do a good job, considering one of the boxes contained a lot of Alex's old belongings. There had been a lot of crying, and a little wearing one of his old jackets that still vaguely smelt like him. One of the boxes had contained all your old art supplies and books, though.

So you found yourself sloppily sketching a few things throughout that week. It was getting easier, and you think of that saying about never forgetting how to ride a bike. You definitely had forgotten how to draw hands, though. Or maybe you never figured that out in the first place. Hands, why couldn't you draw yourselves?

Now you sat there, staring at a blank page, the light from the moon tinting the paper blue. What to draw? Maybe something you could reference from where you were seated? A quick glance around reminds you that you hate drawing landscapes. People were much easier. But Robert was the only human around. After a moment you decide he's too engrossed in his whittling to really notice what you're doing.

You start with a circle, sketching the rough outline of his head and neck. Then a couple more shapes to form his chest and arms, and then his hips and legs. The position looked accurate and the anatomy decently proportional, so that's a success.

You begin adding details now, starting with the area where his nose smoothed into his forehead. You have to erase a few times, but you manage to get the shape of the nose to look relatively accurate. The eyes come next, dark and tired and focused. You insert his thick brows, furrowed together and downward in concentration. The perfect curve of his mouth, and his dark lips. You define the angles of his brow and cheekbones, curving down to his chin and jaw.

His neck proves a little troublesome, always appearing either too thick or thin. You give up on the Adam's apple altogether for the time being. Instead your focus goes to his jacket. Leather was always hard to draw, but you're determined. It's stiffer and shinier than other fabrics, settling into creases and folds differently than something softer and thinner. The lapels are easy enough, along with the flaps over his shoulders. The general shape of the jacket begins to form, and you go back to add more details. The studs, pockets, et cetera.

His usual sunglasses aren't around his neck, and for that you are so grateful. Glasses had been and probably always will be a nightmare to draw. You get started on the curve of his shirt's collar, along with the light stitching of its hem. Further down, where his body leans hunches forward, there is a mess of folds and bends in the fabric that you spend far too long detailing.

His jeans are easy enough, and you cannot help but notice how nicely they hug his body. The curve of his thighs up to his bottom, snug in the denim pulled tight by his choice of seating position. You clear your head, reminding yourself that Robert probably won't be in this spot all night and you shouldn't waste time ogling him.

Like he could read your mind, he begins shifting. Luckily he is just pausing to brush wood shavings off his lap onto the ground. Once he's dusted off, he goes right back to his whittling. You sigh in relief, knowing that you'd never be able to shade his leather jacket properly without staring directly at it.

The only things left to draw are his hands and feet. You opt for his feet because hands are a nightmare. His Timberlands are scuffed and dirty, laces in a rough knot that was starting to come undone. The yellow of them has faded more to a brown, and the laces are fraying in some spots. You idly wonder how old these shoes are, or how much of Robert's life they had seen. You often questioned the same of his leather jacket. How many long nights had they seen? How many cigarettes and bottles of whiskey? How many midnight hikes through the woods in search of cryptids or drunk walks home from Jim and Kim's? Part of you enjoys the thrill of how mysterious Robert is, while another part of you longs for those rare moments when he shares a piece of himself with you.

His hands are the only thing left. You love them. Large, warm hands that were so surprisingly delicate with every task. Brown skin littered with little lines of white; scars from years of whittling and who knows what else. Short cut nails, pointed knuckles protruding through the skin, and ragged cuticles from those rare moments you caught him picking or nibbling on them.

You love his hands. You also hate them in this moment because no matter how hard you try, you can't do them justice on paper. Too big, too small. Fingers too long or bent unnaturally. The palm cradling the stick in place as he works looks half-decent, but the other one. The one that holds the knife just right, thumb pressed against its dull side as he slices through the wood with ease. That one is a pain in the ass. You try to soothe your frustration, erasing the spot once again and starting over. The basic shape of his hand, the basic shape of the knife. Easy enough, until you get to the fingers. The thumb controlling the blade looks good, but the rest look out of place. You erase them, opting to detail the knife first. It was one of Robert's favorites, a little steel blade with a leather handle and sheath. You had seen it dozens of times before, so you barely need to look at it as you add details.

Finally you get back to the fingers, but Robert's hands are moving. Wait, he looks like he's about to get up. "Wait, I'm not done yet."

Robert pauses in his movements, tired eyes looking at you with confusion. That's when he notices the sketchbook and pencil in your hands. "Are you drawing me?" He looks a little incredulous, one brow arching.

"I wanted to draw something from reference," you inform him despite the heat rising in your cheeks. "Just give me a few more minutes, okay?"

He still looks like he can't believe this is actually happening, but he goes back to his whittling position. He goes back to working on his little creation, which is starting to look like... A wand? You aren't sure. It's a thin stick, so Robert was probably limited to what he could make of it.

You go back to trying to figure out his fingers, finally settling for hiding most of them partially behind his stick. At least they don't look super unnatural that way.

Next comes the shading. The leather jacket and his hair are the big things as far as needing a reference goes. You opt to stare with the jacket, taking care to darken it everywhere besides the areas where the moonlight's reflection made the fabric appear almost white. You proceed to darken some areas, especially towards the front since the moon is shining against his back. It turns out pretty good, even if you do say so yourself. The leather actually looks like leather.

His hair is another story completely. Once again, lighter in the back due to the moonlight. But trying to capture the way his little tuffs of grey streak through his dark hair down into his face? It seems almost impossible. You try your damnedest, but it's not happening. You settle for it looking alright, even if it's not perfect.

"Okay, you can move."

Robert sets his stuff aside, stretching his arms and back out a bit. You silently wonder if he had been trying to hold still for you while you finished. "Can I see?"

"In a minute. I just gotta touch it up a bit." You explain, suddenly overwhelmed with anxiety over the idea of Robert seeing your drawing.

He nods a bit, eyes waiting for your pencil to leave the paper. It's hard to ignore his gaze, silently wondering why he's watching you. Your hand retracts a bit, and he takes advantage of the moment to hop off the tailgate. The truck rocks for a moment before settling back into stillness. Did... Robert purposely wait for you to stop drawing so he could move without making you mess up? That's... So sweet and considerate. Shit, your heart is swelling in your chest a bit.

You remind yourself to calm down and focus on your drawing. His shirt, jeans, and shoes require some simple shading. That doesn't take too long, and since they're away from the light source you don't have to worry about highlighting so much. The rest is mostly just erasing extra little lines around the edges and making sure the shading of his face wasn't too dark.

It's finally done, and you let out a little sigh. You know if you stare at it too long you'll find a dozen things that you need to fix, so you tear your gaze away. A quick glance around tells you that Robert is gone. There’s no evidence as to where he’s gone, either. “Robert?”

It's quiet, the only audible response being the wind rustling the leaves through the trees. Some get swept up in the current, dusting their way onto the ground surrounding the overlook. You swallow hard, suddenly filled to the brim with irrational fear. This was silly. Robert probably stepped away to take a piss or something. Logic isn’t soothing your anxiety, though. Instead your brain is assaulting you with the memories from the first night Robert brought you here. That loud shrieking howl, that figure in the distance dragging something, the way Robert’s face went pale. 

“Robert?” You try again, setting your book aside and sliding off the tailgate. The truck creaks softly at the shift in weight, before leaving the world eerily silent once again. You begin towards the tree line, taking each step as softly as possible. The crunch of leaves underfoot is an unavoidable sound, but you want to keep it as quiet as you can manage. 

You linger along the edges of the forest, trying your best to peer inside. It’s far too dark, the trees quickly blending into darkness the further back they were. There’s no detectable movements. “Robert? Are you okay?” You call, voice a little louder this time. Nothing.

The sudden crunch of leaves behind you makes your blood run cold. Your feet aren’t moving, and the wind is currently still. You want to turn, but everything in your brain is telling you to run. To run and if you can’t run then bite and kick and punch your way free until you could run again. The natural fight or flight instinct multiplies the second hands grip your shoulders from behind.

You shriek and begin to thrash as arms wrap around you tightly, holding you still. Over the sound of your own voice, shouting expletives, you almost miss the sound of laughter in your ear. Your body goes still, just processing the sound of Robert’s giggles. “You’re too easy.”

“Fuck you,” you finally manage, wiggling your way free. “That was not funny.” You jab a finger against his chest, and he just continues to laugh. Usually his grin was so beautiful, all wide and toothy, but right now you want to wipe it off his smug face. 

You begin back towards the truck, heart still hammering in your chest. Your head hurts, and your pulse is staggeringly loud in your ear. Robert’s footsteps are behind you and he’s still laughing. You lean over the truck bed, closing your sketchbook and shoving it in your bag.

“I thought you were gonna show me?” Robert inquires, trying to reach past you to grab it. His chest presses up against your back, making you flush.

“Nope. I think it’s time to go home. I need a proper change of pants after you basically made me shit myself.”

Robert laughs louder now, and you can’t deny it’s a beautiful sound. “Alright, alright. But after your change of pants, you’re showing me that drawing.”

“Maybe.” You quip, heading around to get in the front passenger seat. Robert gets in next to you, twisting the key in the ignition and starting down the road. You can feel every rock and bump as the truck slowly creeps down the winding dirt path and back towards the highway. Once you’re there, he picks up speed and reaches out to mess with the radio. 

You listen to some classic rock, an old Zeppelin song that’s deeply garbled in static. Your nerves soothe themselves the longer you’re in the car. It’s familiar, between the faded, peeling stickers on the glove box to the stale smell of smoke. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to drift off with the cool breeze of the open window dusting your face.

You awake to Robert’s big hand on your shoulder, giving you a little shake. Your eyes crack open, looking at him through the darkness. “Hey,” you manage, yawning and stretching your arms a bit. A quick look at your surroundings tells you that you’re in Robert’s driveway. 

“Hey sleepyhead,” he says, voice soft. He opens his door, so you do the same. The rush of cool air definitely helps clear the sleepy fog from your brain. You grab your bag before closing the door and starting towards your house. Robert follows suit, and you motion for him to follow you inside. 

“Want a drink?” You inquire, and he takes a seat on the couch.

“Just water.” 

“Alright.” You head to the kitchen to fetch him a glass of water, coming back and seating yourself next to him. Your head rests on his shoulder, cheek pressed against the cool leather of his jacket. It smells musky; cologne and cigarettes and sweat. It’s comforting, and you could easily drift off to sleep enveloped in it. 

“Am I forgiven now?” He inquires, an arm lacing around your shoulders. You accept the closeness, melting into his warmth. 

“Yeah, but only because sleep is quickly approaching and you are the comfiest pillow in the vicinity.” 

He chuckles, but carefully reaches past you to get to your bag. His fingers pick at the zipper, plucking the sketchbook from its place. You start to feel a little anxious as he opens it, thumbing through the pages. Most of the beginning is just practice scribbles, objects, little areas around the house, doodles of Betsy.

It takes him a minute to finally get to your drawing from tonight, and he pauses. You glance up to his face, too sleepy for the same amount of anxiety you felt earlier, but still nervous. He isn’t saying anything, but you can see the way his pupils dilate, his lips twitching at the corners. 

“What do you think?” You finally inquire, voice small in the quiet room. 

“It’s…” He trails off, his finger pads resting against the paper, tracing the outline of the drawing. “Holy shit.”

“It’s holy shit?”

“Yes.” Robert replies, not laughing. He rests against you, his weight pressing you further down into the couch cushions. “I’ve never had anyone draw me before.”

“Most people haven’t.” You point out, arms wrapping around his waist comfortably. He finally sets the book aside on the coffee table, still in viewing distance. His weight comes down on top of you, arms locking around your body. His stubble presses into your neck as he settles overtop of you, warm and comfortable. It reminds you of that night of the ghost tour, his nose buried deep in your neck as hot tears streamed down his face. 

“Next time give me a heads up. You can draw me Titanic-style. I’m no Kat Winslet, but I’d like to think I’m nice to look at.”

“You are,” you blurt out without thinking. He laughs against your throat, and your fingers thread through his hair. “You are very nice to look at, okay? Which is probably the most frustrating part of drawing you because there’s no way I can do you justice.”

“Seriously?” He inquires, lifting his head a little bit to look at you. “That looked really good.”

“Robert, I could carve a piece of wood into some curvy, abstract shape and say it was a portrait of you and you would think it was accurate.” 

He looks a little offended, squinting his eyes. Finally he gives up, burying his face into your neck again. It’s quiet for a long while, and you’re starting to teeter over the edge towards sleep. Robert is like a warm safety blanket on top of you. 

Movement on Robert’s end pulls you back from the edge of consciousness for a moment. His head turns, lightly raising himself up on his elbows to crane his neck and look at the drawing a bit more. You watch him sleepily, fighting to keep your eyes open.

“You did a really good job on my hands.” He comments softly. You smile wide, drifting off to sleep with a sense of accomplishment and a warm body on top of you.

**Author's Note:**

> idk this is rly gay lmao i just love robert small too much. also pls imagine robert posing naked on the couch for leonardo dicaprio. itll make your day better i promise.


End file.
